


The Chronicles of Lara Noble

by TheDirtyHippie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Original Fiction, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, original - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDirtyHippie/pseuds/TheDirtyHippie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lara was already in a sort of rut in her life.  A rut which dug deeper the day she got a call about her best friend since she was 7 having committed suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chronicles of Lara Noble

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter in what I hope to eventually be a full novel. I won't promise prompt updates, but I am aiming to complete a chapter every two weeks. This chapter has been written for several months and reviewed by several of my friends so don't expect any additional chapters to live up to the standards of this one in regards to editing. If I get a positive response from this story I have also thought about creating a second series here and uploading short stories I already have written with these characters on the off weeks. At any rate, I hope you enjoy my work.

Lara reaches for a lipstick-stained cigarette resting in the glass ashtray by her keyboard to find that it had burnt out.  She looks at the sky blue pack of American Spirits, resting beside a lit, wood-wick, French vanilla candle on top of the bookcase by her desk.  Running her fingers through her short brown hair she contemplates lighting a fourth cigarette.  “Whatever,” she whispers to herself, grabbing the lighter and placing another cigarette between her faded red lips.  Lara peers around for her Bic before deciding to lean over and reach for the candle lighter by the candle.

            She inhales deeply, the end of the cigarette burning bright orange light that fades into the dull glow of the computer screen.  Smoke flies at the blank word document in front of her as she exhales, leaving the cigarette tucked in the corner of her mouth as she places her fingertips on the keyboard.

            Lara stares at the computer screen, absent of expression.  Her gaze begins to wander.  First to the photo hanging on the wall—a photo taken at her graduation of herself and her best friends, David and Henry.  Then to a glass of wine, filled to the top.  She takes the cigarette from her lips long enough to lean forward and sip the wine from its place on the desk.  Returning to the back of the chair Lara looks to the clock on the computer, 2:02am.  She glances over to the cracked open window by her bed and pulls her off-white knitted afghan tighter around her shoulders to keep the cool, salty, Maine air off of her neck.  Lara looks over at the mirror; her hair is messy, her eyes droopy, eyeliner smeared, cheeks sunken in, and her skin more pale than usual.  Even in the low light, Lara could tell she was far from her best in this condition. Lara takes the half-finished cigarette from her lips and puts it out in the ashtray.

            Taking a large gulp from her wine glass to get the line farther down the glass, shaking her head in mild disgust, Lara stands from her seat and stumbles to the kitchen with her glass.  She nearly trips on a pair of Diane Von Furstenberg shoes she had purchased earlier that day; they were still in their box.  Lara shuffles her feet catching her balance and then bracing herself on the door.  She opened the door to blinding lights coming from the common area.

            “Can you maybe not smoke in the apartment, Lara?  It’s assaulting to the senses,” a girl in the living room said to Lara from the sofa, “I’m kind of tired of asking.”

            “Sure, sure.  I’ll stop smoking in the apartment when you learn to clean after yourself and your cat,” Lara smirks as she continues to the kitchen.          

The girl on the sofa looks back down at her statistics text book and continues to highlight and copy.

Lara braces herself on the sink and places all of her weight on one leg, her other foot somewhat sore from kicking the shoe box.  “I need a long holiday,” she whispers to herself yet again as she rinsed out her wine glass and places it inside the dish washer, “I need to be at home.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Lara walks beneath a giant arching metal detector, her freckled skin shining under the florescent lights.  She plants her bare feet on the cheaply carpeted floor and raises her arms to be double checked with a wand by a security guard.    The wand brushes her tan trench coat and the little bit of her knee-length blue skirt that hangs out of the bottom.  The security guard finishes and directs her to the basket with her belongings.  She takes her shoes and some bracelets from the basket, and takes small carry-on.  Lara walks over to the wall to balance herself and wiggles her feet back into her brown leather oxfords; she stands back up and puts her bracelets back around her wrist.  Lara steps to the conveyor belt to pick up her luggage, she throws her hunter green drawstring bag over her shoulder, and places her hands into the pockets of her coat.

            Two matching grey luggage bags roll in on the conveyor belt marked with name tags: Lara Noble, 4610 Fern Street, Millinocket, Maine 04462.  She takes a step toward the luggage when she catches the eye of a bleach blond haired man wearing an oversized sweater and tattered skin-tight blue jeans.  “David!” she yells ecstatically, “You best get your cute butt over here,” holding her arms out once more.

            David grins and runs over to Lara.  Before he gets to her he shuffles his feet and slows to a halt just in front of her.  “Your chariot awaits, my lady,” he says in a terrible English accent before bowing overdramatically.

            “You’re a dweeb,” she laughs as she wraps her arms around his neck brushing her cheek against his messy bottle-blond hair.

            David wraps his arms around Lara’s chest, “You know you love me,” he says resting his scruffy chin on her shoulder.

            “I do.”  Lara lets go of David, “Let me go get my bag and I’ll be right there.”

            The two weave their way through the crowd, holding hands not to lose one another, and out the airport door into the parking lot.  They make their way to a silver and blue 1972 Dodge pick-up whose paint was faded and chipping. 

            “David, you still have the same truck,” Lara points out, running her fingers across the back nearly taking a chip of the blue paint with her.

            David chuckles as he takes Lara’s bags from her and puts them in the bed of the truck, “Yes I do.  I couldn’t get rid of her.”

            “Does she still run as shitty as she did the last time you drove me?” Lara jokes.

            “Better actually, I’ve spent a lot of money putting the engine in good condition again,” he tells her as they both open the creaking doors and step up into the cabin.

“That’s nice…but you couldn’t afford a new paint job or even a can of WD-40?” Lara stabs, “These doors sound like they’re going to fall off.”

David starts the engine with ease and puts his seatbelt on, “It gives her character, Lara,” David grins.  Lara shakes her head, buckles in, and proceeds to take a CD out of her carry-on bag.

            “I thought I’d make a mix of some of the stuff we always used to listen to when all of us were together.  Like, before we graduated high school.  You know, back when we thought we were all the shit for listening to music no one else did.  Do you want to listen?” Lara says to David showing him the unlabeled disk and smirking.

            “I think it’s appropriate,” David says after a short hesitation.

            Lara takes the disk out of the case and slides it into the new player David put in the truck.  “Angels” by The XX begins playing while David shifts the truck from park to reverse and begins to back out of his space.

            “Oh my gosh, I can almost feel the pretentious teenager coming out of me again,” David yells shifting the truck into drive.

Lara laughs, "To Carson!"

David throws his fist out the open window, "To Carson!"

 

* * *

 

 

            Lara and David pull up to a white house with a green, double-paneled door and a semicircle window in the top.  All the windows in front are paned and painted white, shutters that match the door are hinged to either side of all of them—real shutters, not those posers that are nailed to the side of the house at all four corners.   The two open the doors of the truck, step out, and slam them shut.

            “David, would you mind helping me get my bags into the house?” Lara shouts across the truck.

            “Carry your own damn bags,” he replies walking to the back of the truck bed and letting down the hitch.

            They each grab a bag and carry them up the path and up the stairs onto the porch.  The porch has pealing and filthy grey paint and is covered in crushed dead leaves and clumps of dried red clay.  David unlocks the door, and turns the faded brass knob.  He pushes the door open and the two are welcomed by the faint smell of cinnamon apple Febreeze and the overpowering odor of cat urine that even the liter could not mask.

            A woman with dark curly hair greets them from the black sofa she has sunken in, “Lara!  It’s been too long,” she jolts up and walks over to give Lara a hug being sure to carry her wine with her.

            “How have you been, Rachael?” Lara asks as she prepares for the incoming hug.

            Rachael always looked brilliant Lara thought.  Her curls are the kind that bounce with every step she takes, the kind that would have made even little Shirley Temple jealous.  She never had a blemish on her face, and never a single scar visible.  Lara also found herself frequently lost in Rachael’s eyes, she’s always had a soft spot for dark brown, the sort of brown that makes it difficult to tell where the pupil ends and the iris begins.  And her sense of style is just as impeccable as her taste in music.  She is garbed in this black turtle neck with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, a pair of bright yellow skinny jeans that she likely stumbled upon in a Ross somewhere, and even though she is inside and probably has not left all day she has on a blanket scarf that matches the jeans perfectly.

            “I’ve been a hell of a lot better to be honest than I am this week, I’ll tell you that,” Rachael says as she takes a sip of the red wine before tightly hugging Lara around her neck.

            “Lara, your room is back here,” David says heading to one corner of the house.

            Lara gives Rachael a kiss on each cheek, “We’ll have more time to catch up later.”

She picks her bag back up, and follows David to her room.  She passes through the cream painted doorway and into a room with lavender walls. Cream molding that matches the rest of the ground floor lines every corner where wall meets floor and wall meets ceiling.  Redwood hardwood floor (likely imitation) scatters the room perpendicular to the door.  A huge bay window with a bench to sit in and a bright red cushion that looks as though David’s mother may have custom-made it for the bench seat in her studio downtown.  David throws Lara’s bags onto the queen wrought iron bed.  The bed is painted white—it clashes a bit with the cream molding.  And the bedspread was something to envy, it matched the bench seat and the curtains perfectly.  The comforter seems to be primarily satin, or at least something posing as satin, with a paisley pattern in velvet.  “I’ll leave you to unpack,” David says giving Lara a kiss on her forehead, “If you need anything, just holler.”  Lara nods and David leaves the room.  

            Lara unzips her largest bag and dumps her clothes onto the bed before changing out of her dress and shoes, into Sophie shorts, a white tee shirt with the words “Vintage Slut” written in paint on the front, and white knee-high socks.  She reaches into her carry-on bag and pulls out an mp3 player and a pair of headphones.  She puts the headphones in and turns on the mp3 player, she selects a Paramore playlist and turns the volume up to 70%, then placing the player in the waist band of her shorts.  Lara walks over to the closet, whistling along, takes a handful of hangers from the bar and continues to hang her clothes.  A smaller bag, full of her toiletries and other miscellaneous necessities, is then placed in the closet on the floor.  Lara walks back over to the bed and sits next to her carry-on; the comforter is definitely satin.

            Lara looks down at the patchwork quilt folded at the foot of the bed.  She leans over to grab it and holds it to her face for a few seconds, breathing in the smell of smoke from an autumn bonfire.  Lara looks down at a sky blue terry cloth patch, she takes one more huff before her blissful smile fades to a disappointed blankness and she throws the blanket back to the foot of the bed, not bothering to fold it.

            Turning back to her bag she unties the draw string and arranges the contents on the bed.  A coffee-stained and yellowing copy of Dante’s Inferno with a TARDIS bookmark about halfway through, a raspberry colored scarf in the process of being knit, a half empty diet Coke, an oversized bottle of ibuprofen, a pack of cigarettes with just 3 left, a small BIC lighter, and a thin argyle cardigan covered in paint splatter.  With the exception of the cardigan which she puts on over her tee, Lara arranges everything on the nightstand between the bed and the wall at the corner of the bay window.

            Lara takes the headphones out and places the mp3 player on the nightstand before walking out of the room and back to the den, “Do you want tea, Rachael?  David?”

            Rachael turns to face Lara, “I’ve been drinking wine all day...Tea would be a nice change of pace.”

            “I’d like some.  Do you remember where everything is at?” David asks her from an old armchair that served as both a seat and a scratch post.

            “Yes, I remember.”  Lara makes her way to the kitchen, her feet warming on the heated subway tiles lining the floor.  She walks over to a porcelain farmhouse sink and takes the teacups with cherry blossoms printed on them from the grey cabinet over the sink.  She sees the candy red kettle sitting on the eye of the grungy, stainless steel, glass-top stove and takes it.  Whistling again, Lara places the kettle under the sink faucet and fills it with water before placing it back on the stove and setting the eye to high.  Lara takes a box of lotus tea and a bottle of eucalyptus honey from the tall cabinet by the refrigerator and walks back over to the island where she placed the pinkish teacups—four of them.  She stops, looks at the fourth cup, sighs and picks it up to put it away.

            Lara picks up the cup and saucer from the granite counter.  She turns around sharply and her hand slips, dropping the cup.  Lara stands shocked as she watches the pink blur head for the floor with the saucer still in her hand.  The porcelain teacup smashes on the white tile and scatters the floor.  Lara is still, frozen, afraid to move and get a shard in her foot.  “Lara!  Are you okay?” David shouts as he pokes his head into the kitchen.

            “I’m fine,” Lara tells him still staring at the floor, “I broke one of your mother’s cups.”

            David tells her, “Stay there.  I’ll be right back.”  David runs upstairs and returns with a pair of shoes on.  He walks over to Lara and puts one arm over her shoulders, “I don’t want you to get a bloody foot.  Jump so I can catch you and carry you into the living room.” 

Lara jumped into David’s arms, still looking spooked.  He places her in the living room away from the mess and goes to retrieve a broom and clean the mess.

“David, I’m sorry,” Lara says to him from the door. 

“It’s fine,” he assures her, “I’ll get a wet paper towel and get the rest of this up.  You good to come finish the tea?”  David finishes cleaning up as the kettle begins to scream. 

“I’m good, yeah I’ll finish the tea.

            Lara finishes preparing the tea and she and David take the cups into the living room where Rachael is still sitting on the sofa.

            Lara sits next to Rachael, passing her a cup of tea.  “Thank you, darling,” Rachael tells her as she takes the cup.

            David takes a seat back at his armchair.  Lara stares at the chair for a bit, examining every inch of worn down upholstery, every rip that went down to the wooden frame, and even the claw marks on the chair’s fat feet.  “Where is Rose?” Lara finally asks after coming out of her daze.

            “Mom took her when she moved back in with dad,” David tells her, “I’ve been thinking about adopting another kitten.  I miss having a cat around here.”

            “You should.  I think it would give the place some more homeliness,” Rachael says to him. “After all, the chair’s already ruined and the place still smells like cat piss.  So why not?” she finishes, sipping her tea loudly.

            Lara chuckled a little bit, nearly burning her lip on her tea.  “Rachael I forgot how blunt you are.  It’s brilliant,” Lara says to her shaking her head and smiling.

            Rachael turns to Lara, “How about you?  We still need to catch up.  What’s going on in your life?  I want all the details,” she says barely stopping for air, “How’s your book coming?  Is there a boy?  Is there a girl?  How about a gender neutral individual?  Is there someone in your life?  How’s work?  Where are you working now?”  The list continues for at least another thirty seconds before she runs out of air and needs to stop long enough for someone to say something.  However—the only sound to be heard is that of David taking his last gulp of tea.  “Well?!  Come on, David had all that time with you in the truck on the way here.  Tell me something.”

            David stands from his seat, “Lara, why don’t you start with the book?  Sounded to me like you’re getting somewhere with it,” he says as he takes his cup to the kitchen.  David then walks upstairs to the loft above the living room and takes a seat at his desk.

            “Oh dear, what’s going on with the book?” Rachael begs.

            “Well I haven’t really figured out the plot yet, but I have started world building for it.  I’ve written several pages of notes about the species and their respective realms and cultures.  I’ve spent hours in my head just exploring.  It’s a very fascinating place.  I really don’t know why it’s taken me this long to start writing it all down.  I mean, I’ve been dreaming about this place since I was a girl.”

            “That’s still exciting though!  Feeling that inspiration to put everything on file.  I’m proud of you,” Rachael says, “So is there someone special in your life?  Met any cute ones in Maine?”

            Lara hesitates before finally shrugging, “No, not really.”

            Rachael raises one eyebrow, takes a sip of her tea, and hums, “Mhmm.”  Rachael finishes her tea and place it on the table, “So how about work, Ms I ain’t got nobody?”

            Lara widens her eyes and looks to her cup before setting it on the coffee table next to Rachael’s, “Work’s good.  My blog’s gotten more followers in the past few weeks so I’m going to get a raise for the increased business I’m bringing to the site.  But that’s enough about me.  I remember seeing on Facebook a few weeks ago about someone potentially being promoted?”

            “Yes!  I’m being promoted to assistant editor!” Rachael says bouncing in her seat.

            “Congrats!” Lara yells and gives Rachael a hug.  Lara pulls away, “So how’s your brother doing?”

            “Zach’s good,” Rachael says shortly.

            “Rachael, you know what I mean.  You both found Henry.  I know they weren’t close at all, but he’s still bound to be affected by it.”

            “Zach’s a paramedic.  He sees dead people he doesn’t know well all the time,” Rachael tells Lara losing the bubbly tone in her voice.  “Listen, I just really don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?”

            “Okay, I understand.”

            “Here, I’ll take our cups to the kitchen and put them in the dish washer,” Rachael says to Lara as she reaches for the tea cups.

            “Thank you.”

            Rachael takes the cups and saucers to the kitchen, and clanking can be heard in the living room.

 

* * *

 

 

            Lara wakes abruptly to the sound of her phone screaming “EX-TERM-IN-ATE.”  She flops one arm over onto the nightstand, feels around the tabletop a bit, and finally finds her phone which she immediately picks up and turns the 7:00am alarm off.  Phone still in hand, Lara rolls over onto her other side and continues to check for messages and notifications.  Tumblr, one new ask, an anonymous user asking how she stays so pale, ignored.  Twitter, a reply from a former friend she has not seen since her high school graduation, she might say something back later.  Facebook, nineteen people liking that she had checked in at “Casa de David,” that’s just nineteen people that she is going to personally offend by not having time to visit them.  Lara groaned before shoving her phone and hand under the pillow and shutting her eyes again.

 

* * *

 

 

            A bright light beats through the now opened curtains of the bay window.  Lara rolls over, shielding her eyes, “What the hell?” she lets out.

            “Lara, it’s 10.  It’s time to get out of bed.  I promised Maria we’d visit today after her brunch crowd left and you still have to shower,” David leans over her and says in his “mom” voice before pinching her cheeks.

            “Shove off,” Lara grunts rolling over and burying her face in the pillow and comforter.

            David sighs, “I really didn’t want to have to do this but you leave me with no choice at all.”  David walks to the foot of the bed, stands there for a second or two waiting for some sort of response from Lara, but nothing.  He takes the comforter at both corners and rips it off of the bed. 

Lara screams, “It’s frickin’ cold in here.  Je suis Christ!” an expression she and her friends had become obsessed with after a post on tumblr she had seen during her French class. Lara begins scrambling to get under the sheet that was still on the bed. 

David runs over to the side of the bed, sits down, and begins to tickle her ribs.  “I told you to get out of the bed, but you didn’t listen.”

Lara is laughing uncontrollably but manages to get out, “You’re such a jerk,” between bellowing laughs that echoed throughout the house.

Suddenly David stops, Lara catches her breath and then looks at David, likely wondering why he’s still over her.  The two sit in total silence, just staring at each other.

“Did someone scream, Je suis Christ?” Rachael uttered in a very mocking French accent as she entered the room.  She had become a master of this running inside joke.  Without fail, if Rachael had her beret and an eyebrow pencil on her she would turn herself into a French caricature and usually begin chanting, “Hon hon hon Jesuis Christ!”  However this wasn’t something she had done since high school, but even though they had all grown, she still had the knack for penciled on mustaches and taunting laughter.

Lara and David look to Rachael.  She was standing there with a water bottle filled with wine cradled in her left arm, raising the other as if she was cuing a prayer, and looking off into the distance.

Lara began laughing again and David and Rachael both quickly joined her.

“Rachael, how are you even Christ?  You just look French,” Lara says now crying from laughing too hard.

            “Water bottle full of wine.  Duh,” Rachael says shaking her bottle in Lara’s direction unable to keep a straight face.

            David, still laughing, “Alright Lara, get in the shower.  I don’t want to keep Maria waiting for us.”

            “Alright, just let me catch my breath.”

 

* * *

 

 

David parallel parks outside of a café.  Wood paneling painted in dark, earthy shades of greens and oranges cover the store front, completely clashing with the professional appearances of the grey hair salon to the left and the tan law firm to the right. 

David, Lara, and Rachael all pile out of the truck and onto the leaf covered cobblestone sidewalk.

“I’ve missed this sidewalk,” Lara says taking hold of Rachael’s arm.

David steps in between the two women and throws his arms over both of their shoulders.  “Let’s take a walk then, shall we?”

They walk up the sidewalk toward a rickety and possibly rotting store front sign with the silhouette of a cat and “9 Lives Café” painted in gothic letters on both sides.  The three get to the door when Lara notices the display window.  “She changed the display,” Lara says letting go of David and walking over to look in the window.  Lara takes one look in the window and closes her eyes; she turns to face Rachael and David.  Rachael walks over to the window, takes one look inside and gives Lara a hug.  Old photos of Henry are clothes-pinned to yarn stretched across the window frame, at the bottom small knick-knacks and lit candles surround a framed photo of Henry that Lara had taken of him while he was working at the 9 Lives one day after her classes were done.  Lara turns her head to face the window again, “She kept all of those shitty presents he gave her.”

“They’re precious.  Not shitty, young lady,” says a woman poking her head through the front door of the store, “Well don’t just stand there and stare!”

            “Maria!” Lara and Rachael say in unison as they shuffle their way across the cobblestone with their arms open to greet the woman with a short and friendly hug.

            Maria stands on the tip of her toes to hug both of them, “Rachael, you stop growing.  Lara, stop wearing such tall heels.  You’re both making it difficult to hug you,” she says as she lets go of them both smiling and adjusting her coffee stained apron.  Maria is a short and stalky woman in her late 50’s or maybe it is her early 60’s—everyone seems to lose track because for someone Maria’s age she acts a lot younger.  Not to mention Maria has had well over fifteen fiftieth birthdays.  Her hair is wiry and dyed dark brown, silver roots about a quarter inch long are coming through in patches.

            “How have you been, Maria?” Rachael asks her as they are all guided inside by Maria.

            The inside of the café is rustic.  Wooden rafters showing, some of them old and some of them look as if they were replaced just a few months ago.  More wood paneling the ceiling at least fifteen feet from the floor at its lowest point; it is painted a sickening shade of pink that Maria swears is salmon.  Old brick covers the walls, bricks of varying shades, most of them missing corners and have beveled edges that were not meant to be beveled at all.  Black, iron, lattice, bistro tables with matching chairs scatter the middle of the floor.  Booths upholstered with a gaudy 1980’s Americana print line the wall by the door, each of them in their own alcove with imitation maple wood tables anchored to the wall.  At the back of the café is a small stage with a pearly white baby grand at one corner.  Opposite the booths is a small register counter, a large cooler full of pastries and deli sandwiches, and a wall of syrups and coffee machines.  The menu behind the counter is just a blackboard, the whole wall is blackboard.  Every item on the menu had been handwritten, and the items that never changed had been given a clear coat so that the menu would not require a touch up every couple of days.

            “I’m brilliant,” Maria says, “How are you girls doing?  I haven’t seen either of you in ages.”

            “I’m sure we’ve both been better,” Rachael tells her.

            “I thought so.  I was so surprised when I heard about the suicide.  Honestly though, Henry wasn’t the most stable of people.  I tried, for years, to get him to see a doctor or go to some clinic for treatment, but no,” Maria says as she tightens the knot in her cat-print apron behind the counter, “Hell, I offered to pay for part of it if he’d just go.  But he just would not lis..”

            David cuts her off midsentence, “Maria, maybe now isn’t really such a good time for this conversation.”

            Maria’s eyes widen as she looks over to the three, “I am so sorry.  Sometimes I forget how differently most people grieve.  I apologize.  When you’ve seen as much death as I have it begins to have less of an effect on you.”

            Lara pats under her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie, “You’re fine.”

            “New topic!  What does everyone want?  It’s on the house,” Maria shouts looking to Lara first.

            Lara shrugs, “I’m not sure.”

            “I just got some gingerbread syrups in today.  And I still have a few bottles of pumpkin spice.  Do you want me to make your Noble Special?” Maria asks giving Lara a wink.

            “That would be lovely,” Lara tells her through a grin hiding behind her sleeve covered hand.

            “I’d like a vanilla chai tea if that’s okay,” Rachael says standing on her tip toes and pointing to the box of tea on the counter.

            “What about you, David?” Maria says with a notepad in her hand.

            “I’ll just take a black coffee,” he tells her, “Do you need any help?”

            “Oh no, dear, I’ll get it.  You three go find a seat.”

            The three make their way to the booth closest to the exit.  It is tucked away in a corner at the front of the store with its own window.  Particles of dust frolic in and out of the light, pirouetting into the shadows cast by the “9 Lives Café” decal on the window.  Lara sits facing the window, giving her soapstone green eyes the chance to catch the light and shimmer in that way that David always admired.  Rachael and David sit on the other side of the booth facing an ornately framed picture of an orange tabby kitten.  

            “How is Tabatha, Rachael?” David asks, pointing to the portrait.

            “She just had a litter of eight a couple of weeks ago,” Rachael says rolling her eyes and groaning, “I can’t handle all of them and I can’t find anyone to take them off of my hands.  I had to beg Zach to watch them while I’m gone.”

            “I would love to take a pair of them from you if you’d like,” Lara says excitedly while she digs through her bag, the same bag she had taken on the plane.

            “You know, I am planning a trip to see my mom in Manchester,” Rachael says waving a finger at Lara, “If I’m thinking right, that’s right in between us.  It’s about a four hour drive I think, but I would not mind bringing them to mom’s if you want to come and visit too and pick them up.”

            Lara finally takes a pair of Ray Ban aviators out of her bag and puts them on, “That sounds like a good time.  It’s been forever since I’ve seen your mom.”

            Maria walks over to the table carrying a tarnished silver tray with four different cups balanced strategically.  She takes a Cheshire cat mug full of black Italian roast coffee and hands it to David, an orange tea cup and saucer with a vanilla chai tea bag still steeping to Rachael, and a tall yellow mug with a sugar skull printed on the front with a pumpkin gingerbread latte inside to Lara.  Lara’s fingers brush against the back of Maria’s leathery hand as she takes the mug.

            Maria takes a seat by Lara, “What were you talking about?” she questions them all looking to join in the conversation.

            “Lara and I were just talking about making a trip to Manchester to see my mom and for me to give her a kitten or two,” Rachael informs her.

            “Manchester, dear?  Which one?  I wasn’t aware that your mother had left the county.”

            “New Hampshire,” Rachael says taking the tea bag from her cup and placing it on a napkin.

            “That should be good fun,” Maria says looking to Lara taking careful sips from her mug.  “Oh, I’ve missed you two.  It just doesn’t feel the same when David is the only one I see anymore.”

            “I’m sorry, Maria,” Lara says, “I’d visit more often if I had the money to.”

            “I know you would, dear.  I’m glad that you’re here.  I just wish it didn’t have to be under these circumstances.”

            David puts his mug down on the table with both hands wrapped tightly around the surely burning ceramic, “Will you be able to make it to the receiving or the funeral, Maria?  I’m sure he’d want you to be there.”

            “I’m only going to be able to make it to one.  I’m not sure which one I’m going to yet.”

            The four sit in silence as they sip their drinks.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Well that was a real uplifting reunion,” Lara mutters as they walk to the truck.

            “Did you say something, Lara?” David asks.

            “No.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Lara stands from where she was seated in the bay window and looks at the time on her phone, 11:32pm.  _I just wish I could sleep_ she thinks to herself.  She takes her cigarettes and walks outside to the porch.  Lara takes a seat on a rocking chair painted lime green and covered in dirt and lights a cigarette.  She inhales deeply and exhales slowly.  Removing her phone from her pocket she opens her emails and goes straight to one she had received from Rachael a few days before her arrival in Carson; subject line: The Letter.

 

 

> Dearest friends,
> 
>                                 I apologize.  I can’t stand being in my own head anymore.  I’ve fought a good fight I feel, but the monsters are only getting stronger.  They’ve learned how to break down every single wall I put up.  I’ve locked them away so many times before and honestly I’m just tired.  Please don’t be angry at me.  I haven’t been a good person for a long time, and you all deserve to have what you can’t while I’m here.  You’re all too busy taking care of me and making sure I don’t do anything like what I’m about to do to do anything happy for yourselves.  I love you all dearly.  Know that that much is always going to be true.  But please understand that I tried.  For thirteen years I’ve been fighting.  And every time these fuckers in my head have come back they’ve learned.  They’ve learned how to break down my barriers.  And they only come back stronger each time.  If there is an afterlife I hope to see you all there.  I love you all.  Thank you, every single one of you, for caring so very much.
> 
>                                 Love and best wishes,
> 
>                                                 Henry
> 
>             PS  Lara, put that degree of yours to good use…write about our time together some time?

 

            Lara’s eyes begin to water as she reads the letter that Henry had left on his laptop for Rachael to find.  She goes to wipe her tears when she hears the front door open, prompting her to exit the file on her phone. 

            “You okay?” Rachael asks placing a hand on Lara’s shoulder gently.

            “I’m good, just can’t sleep,” Lara replies looking up to her.

            “Really?  Because you’re crying.”

            “I just got a little cig smoke in my eyes, it’s nothing,” Lara lies as she wipes her sleeve under both eyes.

            Rachael walks around front of Lara and takes the rocker beside her, “Zach really is fine, you know.  I wasn’t lying or evading when I told you that,” Rachael begins, “Truth be told, Zach worried about Henry, but only in the professional sense.”

            “What do you mean?” Lara asks as she puffs smoke from chapped lips.

            “I mean that he could tell Henry was slipping.  But he also knew that Henry wasn’t the type to seek professional help either.”

            “So he did nothing?”

            “Lara, even if he had it wouldn’t have done him any good.  You heard Maria today, she tried for years, even offered to help pay, and he still wouldn’t go.”

            Lara takes one last drag before flicking the filter into the yard, “I know.  I just—I miss him a lot.”

            Rachael reaches over and hugs Lara, “I do too, Lara.  We all do.”

            Rachael returns upright to her seat and Lara asks, “What was he like before?”

            “You mean like the days before he passed?”

            Lara nodded.

            “He _seemed_ happy.  Or at the least content.  He had gotten into the habit of shutting himself in his room a lot more often, but I didn’t really think anything of it because we had a disagreement a couple weeks ago.  I just thought he was ill with me.”

            “What were you two arguing about?” Lara asks.

            “Just typical roommate things.  You know, whose turn it was to wash dishes.  Why there were leftovers in the fridge from a week ago.  Petty things.”

            “I was just wondering.  He hadn’t been talking to me as much anymore.  I had only received a phone call the night before he swallowed all those damned pills.”

            “Awe, Lara, I’m sorry about that.”

            “It’s cool.  It’s whatever I guess.”

            “Well the receiving is tomorrow and David wants to make us all breakfast in the morning so we should probably turn in, don’t you think?” Rachael says as she stands up.

            “Yeah, probably,” Lara mutters as she follows Rachael to the door.

            “Ya know, if you’d like I could cuddle you while we sleep,” Rachael says winking and nudging Lara with her elbow, “I hear it’s quite comforting and all that I mean.”

            Lara snikers through the melancholy and says, “I think that would be really nice actually.”

  

* * *

 

                _Lara shuffles her grocery bags into the apartment and kicks the door shut behind her.  She weaves around furniture in the living room and went to the kitchen, greeting her roommate, Britney, on the way._

_“Did you get the avocado for me?” Britney asks, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose._

_Lara struggles to get the bags up onto the peeling laminate counter top, “Yeah, here they are,” she says handing a bag with two avocadoes to Britney.  “I’m not sure where you want them.”_

_“Thank you so much.”  Britney grabs the bag and walks to the opposite end of the kitchen and prepares to make toast with avocado slices and black pepper.  “So, about the rent...”_

_Lara is putting away her groceries, “What about the rent?”_

_“When do you plan to pay for your half this month?”_

_“Whenever I can,” Lara says shortly as she places the last of her groceries into the cabinet and begins to pour a glass of wine._

_“And last month’s rent?” Britney remarks, turning around to face her._

_Lara picks up her glass and heads to her room mumbling something inaudible under her breath.  She turns the knob to her bedroom and attempts to open the door, having to force it open.  “Dear lord this place is shit!” Lara shouts and throws her head back._

_Lara walks into her room, immediately kicking off her black flats.  She walks over to her desk, sets her wine glass down, opens her laptop, and turns it on.  She looks to a pair of shorts she laid on her bed earlier and decides to change into them despite the fact they had been worn four times already since the last time they had been through the wash.  On her way back to her desk she cracks the window behind her bookcase and lights a French vanilla candle with a wooden wick._

_She picks up her phone and dials David’s number; he had texted her earlier that day saying, “Call me as soon as you can.  It’s urgent.”_

_“Hello?” says a gravelly voice on the other end._

_“David!  I don’t hear from you in over a month and suddenly you have urgent news for me?”  Lara jokes._

_“Lara, it’s serious.”_

_“Well alright, Mr. Seriousness, out with it,” Lara says._

_David stays quiet for a moment, “Henry is dead.”_

_“No he’s not.  I just talked to him yesterday.  What do you need to tell me, David?  This isn’t funny,” Lara tells him losing the bubbly tone she had._

_“I wish I was joking.”_

_Lara hangs up the phone.  She goes to Henry’s contact and presses call._

_The phone rings then goes to voicemail.  She repeats.  The same happens.  She calls a couple more times until finally someone answers._

_“Henry!  Jesus shit!  Pick up your god damn phone!  You scared the hell out of me.  David was telling me you were dead and I was so terrified.  And…”_

_“Lara,” a higher pitch voice than what Lara expected to hear answers, “It’s Rachael.  I didn’t know where Henry’s phone was and I couldn’t get to it any sooner.”_

_“Rachael?  Where is Henry?  Why isn’t HE answering HIS phone?”_

_“Lara.  David was telling you the truth.  Henry is dead.  Zach and I found him this morning.”_

_Lara’s face goes blank of all expression and she sits on her bed.  “I’m sorry.  I just remembered I have a thing.  I can’t talk right now,” Lara says._

_“Lara, plea…” Rachael begins before Lara hangs up the phone and turns it off._

 

Lara wakes from her dream being lightly shaken by Rachael.  “How do you want your coffee?” Rachael asks her.

Lara stretches in the bed and in the midst of a yawn manages to say, “Just two sugars please.”

Rachael nods and heads out of the room, pulling the top of the comforter off of Lara as she walks out.

“Screw you!” Lara laughs.

“Please do!” Rachael replies from outside the room.

Lara smiles and sluggishly stands from the bed and walks over to the mirror by the closet.  She takes a beanie from her bag in the closet and puts it on, stuffing her greasy hair into it.  “Good enough,” she says to herself before walking out of the room.

“Good morning, Lara,” David says through the cut out in the wall to the kitchen.

“Good morning to you,” Lara returns as she steps through the doorway and sits by Rachael at the table.

“Maple syrup or blueberry?” David asks her as he brings over a plate of pancakes.

“Depends, how fresh is the blueberry syrup?” Lara asks.

“I just made it this morning,” David smiles.

“Blueberry it is!” Lara says as she takes a sip from her coffee cup.


End file.
